5. CEO Mario Ariott
1462 Words
Mario POV
Perfection.
That is all I have ever demanded — from my business, from my bloodline, from the world itself. Yet every woman who has stood at my side has proven to be a disappointment. Soft. Predictable. Fragile. They crumble long before I ever consider granting them a second chance.
How difficult is it, truly, to match the level of power I offer?
To take my name means to rise with it — not stain it.
Being accused of my fiancée’s death was the last insult I needed. As if I would risk my empire for something as trivial as emotion. My attorney — incompetent as humans often are — had another engagement, so his subordinate stood in his place. I was required to testify, to “clear my name,” as if my word alone did not shape markets and bury rumors.
It wasn’t even me who killed her.
It was one of my guards — overly zealous, but useful.
I lounged back in the courtroom chair, knuckles resting lazily against my cheek, one leg crossed over the other — the position of a king tolerating lesser creatures. I wanted this spectacle over with.
Then I smelled it.
Blood.
Warm. Sweet. Pure.
It slid through the air like silk, catching my attention and tugging it away from my phone. My gaze lifted — and I saw her.
A small woman stepped inside the courtroom. Petite. Delicate. Wrapped in a cream-colored tailored dress that hugged her frame just enough to suggest refinement rather than invitation. Brown boots. Gold jewelry — tasteful, not gaudy. Reddish-brown pixie-cut hair that framed a face too innocent to exist in a place like this.
But it wasn’t just her looks.
It was her energy.
Gentle… yet stubborn. Soft… yet unbroken. The kind of woman who survives storms without realizing they’ve sharpened her.
She intrigued me.
She would look exquisite standing beside power.
“Mr. Ariott. We’re ready for you.”
My temporary attorney’s voice broke through my thoughts. Irritating — but necessary.
I rose slowly, adjusting the cuff of my suit jacket. My movements were deliberate — controlled — as always. Power is not loud. It is quiet. Certain. Absolute.
As I turned to leave, I reached out through the mental bond that connected me to my security.
‘Do not let her leave.’
My thoughts slid like a blade into their minds.
‘Follow her. Learn everything. Name. Address. Bloodline. History.’
She was not going to disappear — not now that I had seen her.
There are few things in this world worth owning.
And she was one of them.
My hearing ended quickly.
As it always does.
Justice bends easily when you own the hands that shape it.
I stepped out of the assigned room, already bored, already thinking ten moves ahead — and then I saw her again.
The woman.
She stood in the corridor answering a call, her posture tense but composed, like someone used to carrying weight alone. When she ended the call, I cleared my throat deliberately.
She looked up.
Those glasses framed olive-green eyes that caught the light just enough to hold it. Alert. Guarded. Intelligent. I smiled slowly, the way men like me do when we know the world is accustomed to saying yes.
“Excuse my ignorance,” I said smoothly, “but I noticed you the moment you walked in. I couldn’t help but wonder if you’d like to have dinner with me.”
She blinked — nervous, yes — but she didn’t melt.
Instead, she surprised me.
“I’m sorry,” she said firmly. “I’m here for a divorce proceeding, and until it’s finalized, I don’t want to pursue anything with anyone. Thank you for your interest.”
For a split second, the world stilled.
Rejection.
From her.
The audacity should have angered me — and it did — but beneath it, something far more dangerous stirred. Desire sharpened by denial. Hunger fed by resistance.
I enjoyed challenges.
I pulled my personal card from my wallet — black, embossed, unmistakable — and held it out before she could retreat.
“I respect honesty,” I said calmly. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”
She took it — reluctantly — doubt clear on her face.
Good.
Doubt is simply the first step toward persuasion.
I watched her walk away, already planning, yet the unmistakeable scent of a wolf around her was hard to ignore. Months ago, my enterprises uncovered the largest werewolf pack hiding in Wisconsin. I eliminated them. Cleanly. Efficiently. Their territory went silent overnight — no bodies, no witnesses, no questions asked.
And yet…
No heir.
No successor.
Wolves still scurried through my city like vermin pretending they belonged.
My bloodline does not end with me.
As she turned the corner, I caught pieces of her conversation with a dark-haired woman — calm, professional.
“Well, at least the case is moving forward Thumper. The court will need you to address the remaining debt, you are officially divorced but held by the debt. I can’t take that on, but I can ask around and see if anyone can help.”
Debt.
My lips curved upward.
“I still owe for the tent, what was taken from his car, and the car itself,” the woman — Thumper — said quietly. “I can’t pay it right now. I’ll need to increase my hours. But I’ll try. Thank you… I’m glad it’s over.”
Thumper.
The name settled into me like possession.
I stepped away and glanced at the case number on the file Thumper held.
434DRD.
I found my attorney immediately — pale, sweating, terrified. Good. Fear makes people obedient.
“If you want your little sister returned alive,” I said pleasantly, “you’ll do one more thing for me.”
His face drained of color.
“I’ll do anything.”
I handed him my black card.
“Pay off the debt of Miss Thumper,” I ordered. “Case 434DRD. Inform the receptionist that your client had hired you out as his legal representative, to make the payment out of goodwill.”
He ran.
As they always do.
Satisfied, I signaled my guard to retrieve the card once the transaction was complete, and return his sister alive. Humans exhaust me — their weakness, their noise, their belief that morality protects them.
Outside, the night welcomed me.
Bones shifted. Skin thinned. Power surged as my form morphed — elegant, ancient, superior — wings unfurling as I took to the sky.
I would give her relief.
Safety.
Stability.
And in return…
She would belong to me.
Whether she understood that yet or not.
My estate bowed when I arrived.
Every servant. Every subordinate. Every parasite who depended on my favor stood frozen, waiting for my approval like animals trained not to breathe too loudly.
“My king,” one of them said. “We’ve been expecting you.”
The sound of his voice irritated me instantly.
“Tell me,” I snapped, “that the thing is gone and the room is ready for its next use.”
He didn’t look away. Didn’t hesitate. He’d learned better than that.
“Yes, my king. She’s been removed. Guards have been placed around the residence she is currently sharing.”
Sharing.
The word detonated something ugly inside me.
“Sharing with who?” I roared. “That dumb b***h was getting divorced.”
His eyes flickered — just once.
I was on him before he could react.
My hand closed around his throat and I lifted him like he weighed nothing. The impact when I threw him across the marble floor echoed through the hall, satisfying in a way that nothing else ever was. He screamed. I didn’t tell him to stop.
I kicked him while he tried to crawl away.
Again.
And again.
Each groan scraped the tension out of my body. Each crack of bone soothed the rage coiled inside me. Power always did that — reminded me of who existed to be broken and who existed to command.
When I finally felt calm enough to breathe, I crouched beside him.
“Find out what you’re not telling me,” I said softly. “And start teaching her how to behave. I don’t care how.”
He nodded through blood and fear.
“I expect my first date with her within three months,” I continued. “She’ll come willingly — or she’ll be made to believe she chose it.”
I stood and walked away, already bored with him, already imagining her in my home — dressed, shaped, grateful.
She wasn’t a woman.
She was a prize.
And prizes always end up where they belong.
- Writer
